Fifteen Shades of Switch
by Chimera Idle
Summary: Because if you have fifteen women in your past, chances are at least one of them rejected you. Probably for being a BDSM pansy.
1. Chapter 1

1

It's not something that one gets into lightly, or by accident. With the expense of seven years of academic labor looming, it was something to mull over, all my considerable moral qualms aside. My physical attributes, bearing, intellectual background, as well as certain personality traits lent themselves well to the requirements of the certain players in the scene. That's what they don't tell you on Wikipedia. You have to either have something others lack, or be missing something that others possess. After all I've experienced, I still have been unable to determine which of those are true. And perhaps, that's how it should be: suspended between the fantasy that we're all striving for, and the reality that we all know lurks just beyond the dungeon door. The greedy, jealous monster of the everyday, that aims to consume us with responsibilities, deadlines, mendacity, and the never ending search for the missing mate to the sock that already on the wrong foot. This is brief story of my four sordid months after finishing law school. Of my experience with him, Mr. Eleven.

Looking back, it was all Cain's fault. He's was the one who was always networking. Looking for suitors, he called it. Cain was my sensei, shall we say, who brought me into the scene. He was the first that I studied under, and we remain fast friends to this day. Cain needed a date to the fundraiser, and given that he was always trying to impress a client, he wanted to go with the celebrity; me. I still can never say no to Cain, although now it's usually looking after his twin boys when he and Mrs. Cain need some time off from my godsons. Times and favors change, I suppose. I had no idea at the time that he invited me primarily to introduce me to my next (and last) client. Good old Cain, always looking out for me.

"You're going to wear the red one, right?" I could hear Cain's voice through my bedroom door and the sound of Dresden Dolls in my earbuds. Shaking my head in irritation, I paused the track and stuck my head out the door.

"Of course, MASTER!" I shouted, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Typically, there would have been quite the thrashing in line for me for such insubordination, but given we weren't "on the clock", I let my smart mouth run off. I heard a laugh followed by a stern grumble. Popping my mp3 player on the dock, I shut the door, letting the towel covering me drop, and turned the sound all the way up:

_Missed me, missed me, now you've got to kiss me. _

I strolled leisurely to my closet, unhampered by clothing. This is magic hour, the getting-ready time that gets me all fired up to do what I do best, which can be anything from arguing for the rights of a foreign diplomat to kneeling in corner wearing nothing but a pair of over the knee Christian Dior boots and a decorous smile.

_If you kiss me, mister, I might tell my sister._  
_If I tell her, mister, she might tell my mother and my  
mother, mister, she might tell my father and my father, _  
_mister, he won't be too happy and he'll have his lawyer  
come up from the city and arrest you, mister, _

My dear family, I couldn't have imagined what they would have thought, if they knew how their little girl paid for her education. I selected the "red dress of doom" or RDOD a strapless little number, which could only be held up by sheer will and a heroic amount of double-sided tape. Or a certain secret weapon. After slipping on a pair of sky-high, red peeptoe stilettos (my black boots were being reheeled, seems like they were always in need of that back then) I made a quick stop at my lingerie drawer, plucking out the black corset and lace bikini that I picked up on my last trip to Milan. Study abroad is a beautiful thing, I smiled at my reflection. Although, I thought, if Dad was going to hire a lawyer, as the songs goes, it would be me. That might make things a little awkward.

_so I wouldn't miss me if you get me, mister, see?_

I slipped into the undergarments with some assistance from dear Cain. He'd seen me with much less on, in much more prostrate positions. More importantly, he knows that getting a corset to fit properly is a two-man effort. He pulled roughly on the delicate but strong ties, pulling me against him as he did so. I knew what this sort of thing would lead to with him, so once my corset was tightly secure, I stepped demurely away, slipping the RDOD up over my legs. He hunched his shoulders a little, which made his huge chest look even larger. He reached forward to zip up the back of the dress, and pulled me into his arms. I looked up at him dubiously, until he started singing:

_Missed me, missed, me now you've got to kiss me.  
If you kiss me, mister, you must think I'm pretty.  
If you think so, mister, you must want to fuck me.  
If you fuck me, mister, it must mean you love me.  
If you love me, mister, you would never leave me  
it's as simple as can be!_

I sang along too, and I lean into him in a fit of giggles. He smiled down at me, and planted a kiss on the top of my head.

"Better hurry up, kiddo. The ballroom opens in 20 minutes" He said, playfully swatting at my rump as he exited the room. I grinned after him. Things have always been different with Cain, we've always been able to separate our dungeon life from real life. He's the only client I've ever had who I stayed in contact with, let alone friends.

I headed into the bathroom to apply my makeup, as well as tame my long black hair. With my father's side from Sicily, and my mother's from Seoul, thick raven tresses were a given. I look a bit more like my father's side, with my olive complexion and curves. My black eyes and short stature are the main traits that came from my mother. The fiercely, fiery independent streak? I got a double dose of that. I swept my hair back into a low ponytail, brushing the front back, and letting the top layers fall freely. I applied a swipe of jet black eyeliner, extending past the corners just slightly, and dusted my eyelids with smoky grey. My lipstick matched the RDOD perfectly. Taking one last glance in the mirror, I grabbed a red sequin clutch and head out the door, draped on Cain's arm as fittingly as the pashmina shawl draped over mine.

The reception hall was at the Palmer House, one of my favorite places in my adopted city. The ceiling of the lobby is alive with vibrant vignettes of the greatest hits of Grecian antiquity. I cast my eyes skyward, and although it seems like I've been here a thousand times, I always find something new and interesting. Cain was used to this ritual, so he steadied my gait as he led me into the lobby.

"Seems that someone rented out the whole place," his whispered to me. My eyes froze and I stopped dead. "The entire hotel? I didn't even think that was possible." My gaze now swept the room, searching for anyone who might have pockets even near that deep. My search came up empty.

"That's what the rumor is. If you're lucky, I might even introduce you to the evening's primary benefactor." Cain smiled slyly down at me, and I threw him a skeptical look.

"Oh please, Cain West, like you know anyone with that kind of pull. I'm beginning to think you're gate crashing this little soiree."

"You're quite fortunate you're not clocked in, Ms. Sarci. And that you're not under my thumb at the moment." Cain's tone was playful, but his hazel eyes were deadly serious. I stuck my lip out in protest, but decided it's best to drop it. After four years of friendship, and two years of something other than that on occasion, I knew it was best not to push Cain. A drunken evening in the future may lead to s/D time, and he tended to hold grudges. It's all part of the game, and he'd never really hurt me, but that didn't make his punishments any less unpleasant.

While our last experience together drifted through my mind, Cain led me through the crowd. I mechanically nodded at various suits and expensive dresses, smiling on cue and remaining silent. I found then, as I do now, that I tend to get overzealous in social situations, and talk a bit too much when nervous. It's a boon to my chosen profession, having so many words to say to rationalize or criticize any viewpoint at my leisure, but I had gotten more than my fair share of blank stares before I came to conclusion that silence is golden. In the end, no one wants to hear about the consular notification obligations of the Vienna Convention in passing conversation.

Cain had twitched his shoulder slightly and I returned to reality. And what a reality it was. Before me stood the telecommunications magnate himself, the corporate wunderkind that one of my professors have devoted a whole chapter on. Mr. Christian Grey. He's quite handsome, up close, although his copper locks really didn't do it for me. I sized him up with an appraising eye; he wore an impeccably-cut dark graphite suit, with a dress shirt of faintest blue, open at the collar. No tie for Mr. Benefactor. His hair was fashionably disheveled, in the matter that my father would tell him to get a haircut, but it suited him well. Our eyes met for the first time. His were striking shade of grey, light on the outside of the iris, and fading to black towards their pupils. I had heard that those eyes would make any woman melt at his feet. I however, was not that woman. With all the laser intensity that came from that silver gaze, my smoky eyes absorbed every fragment of it like a gravitational singularity and shot back a look of blackest night. I could tell by the slight twitch in his well groomed brows, and the even more slight dilation of his pupils that he was not accustomed this kind of first impression.

"Mr. Grey, this is my associate, Estele Sarci. I believe you were interested in coming to an agreement." Grey smiled at me, his momentary lapse in control quickly recovered; drinking in the dress like it was champagne.

Cain had spilled the beans, and I was less than happy about it, but I didn't let on immediately. Grabbing his hand firmly, I politely excused us, and led him to a corner.

"That guy? This is your big surprise?" I glared up at Cain, who smiled sheepishly.

"I thought you'd be pleased. You said you were looking for a final client, one to get you out of debt completely. And I brought you the biggest fish in the pond."

"Lovely way of putting it, old friend. It's going to look like you're my pimp." Cain stifled a laugh at this.

"You're your own 'pimp' Stel. No man could ever really tell you what to do. Which is exactly why you're so good at convincing them that they can."

"Thanks for the compliment, "I said, exasperated. "I thought I told you I don't do gingers."

Cain laughed out loud at this one, taking a quick conspiratorial look over his shoulder. "Damn it, don't make me laugh like that without a warning. Besides, I would classify him as a 'day-walker'" He poked me in my restricted ribcage. I glared up at him.

"I'm going to need to know if he has any freckles in, um, how to do I put this lightly, _unexpected and unpleasant places. _Redheads always seem to, and I don't want to go in blind. Remember Mr. Eight? Arthur Salvatore?" Cain just about doubled over, and I managed a small grin while he recovered.

"How was I supposed to know that Eight had a tattoo of his mother's face on his stomach and another of his two little sisters on his back?" My eyes widened at the memory. The amount of time I had spent staring into that woman's face while submitting to her son…

"Agghh" I whispered, and shook the memory away.

"Anyway," Cain continued, "this guy has a lot of anti-touching quirks, rumor has it. He found the dungeon online, and really wants to meet you."

"Gah. Probably wants me to dye my hair brown or something. I'm well aware of what a Christian Grey contract entails. Word gets around, NDA notwithstanding"

Cain lightly brushed his hand on my head. "That's a hard limit for me," he says.

Shaking my hair in slight annoyance, I relented. "Alright, I guess I trust you. Let's go meet Mr. Grey."

"You go ahead, Stel. I think he's only interested in talking to you anyhow. He's the jealous type. Good luck."

I narrow my eyes one more time at my friend, and turn to meet my new "date" of the evening.


	2. Chapter 2

It looked as though Grey hadn't moved from the spot, although he has somehow procured two flutes of champagne. Offering one to me, he gave me the full benefit of his handsome smile.

"Miss Sarci, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you. Your friend has said wonderful things about you." He's turned the charm on full, and I knew it was time to begin the delicate ballet. Feigning coyness, I cast my eyes to floor, and my face flushed with color. My fortuitous genetics never fail me in this department. I can blush at any given moment, and regain my tone just as quickly. I peered upward for a fraction of second, and take notice of his reaction. He has visibly blanched, quite a feat given his alabaster complexion. The hook has been baited, and the game is afoot, I said to myself. He reached for my face with one long slim finger, and I take the cue and raise my head before his fingertip makes contact.

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Grey," I said in my Soft Voice while staring firmly at his collar. I took note of a bit of copper curling from the open neck. I attempted to resist the urge to muse internally whether "the carpet match the curtains". I failed at this attempt, and the corners of my lips turned up slightly. I quickly corrected myself, but thankfully Grey took this as an invitation.

"Are you pleased with this situation, Ms. Sarci? I typically don't seek out my companions in this manner, but you caught my attention. Please, come to my table and we can sit and talk this through." He offered his arm, and I instinctively took it. This well-rehearsed dance was so familiar to me by now, that I think I could have done it in my sleep. Speaking of which, time for a moment of vulnerability.

I purposely tripped over my shoes, and leaned heavily into him, maintaining my balance, and clutching his arm with considerable strength. Now, typically, being five feet tall exactly, my prowess in high heels borders on expert, even with a drink in hand, and three more already down the hatch. But I had found that a genuine (or at least genuine in appearance) clumsy moment adds certain humility to the proceedings, and any Dominant worth their salt lives for a chivalrous instant such as that, especially one as courtly as Grey.

He devoured the moment, steadying me with one hand, and deftly setting his champagne glass on a passing waitress's tray with the other. He then had both arms around my shoulders, and I took a quick mental inventory of his strength. For his wiry appearance, his grip was surprisingly powerful. I let myself go a bit more into his arms, and he effortlessly compensated. For the first time this evening, I found myself truly impressed. Perhaps there could be something to this arrangement after all.

As quickly as I "lost" my footing, I regained it, falling into stride with him as we made our way to the table. Luckily, my little show didn't garner too much attention, except from Cain, who cast me a knowing look. I'm still not sure if it was pride or aggravation. Not that he could say much, it was he who suggested such a maneuver to my opening overture.

Grey pulled out my seat for me, and sat down opposite. The table was light by candlelight, making the glint to his eyes more prominent. The flame danced in those steel pools, and I was fleetingly distracted by them, but not for the reason he thought. In my mind's eye, I see little red hair pixies dancing about with freckled nether regions and flame-hued "carpet". They're laughing at me. Clearing this thought from my head, I stared determinedly at his collar again, this time it being too dark to see any errant chest hair.

"You're a very difficult woman to locate, Ms. Sarci, even for a man with my considerable resources. I've been attempting to get in touch with you since I was recommended to your site _dare e avere_. Italian, correct?"

"For Give and Take, Mr. Grey." I felt him looking at me, searching for any clues, but I wasn't about to give anything back. Not yet.

"Mmm. I like that. A mutually beneficial relationship, that's exactly what I'm interested in. Your associate told me that you've nearly completed law school. Congratulations. I'm sure the world can use another astute practitioner of the law in their midst. Tell me, what are your plans for your specialty?"

"International law, with particular focus in foreign diplomacy" For a moment, the Soft Voice fell away, the natural lilt and zeal for my true passion cutting past my decorum. Grey raised his brows a bit, and I met his stare, violently shoving away the naked image of "the Wee Free Men" dancing in his eyes. I darted my eyes away quickly again, feigning a coyness that I didn't really feel.

"Have I startled you, Ms. Sarci?" His face filled with legitimate concern. He reached out again to my lowered chin, and again I took the cue and lifted my eyes. "I didn't mean to. Have you had anything to eat yet?" I shake my head, and he immediately stood to call over a waiter. Three arrived before he had completely gotten to his feet. His voice assumed a cold, arrogant tone.

"The lady will have the bacon-crusted sea scallops, broiled potatoes and snow peas. And I'll have the same, with your finest Pinot Gris."

"And a highball of Johnnie Walker Blue, straight up," came a Soft Voice behind him. I smiled my coy smile, and shrugged gently, "I'm not really a champagne kind of girl."

Grey looked slightly shaken by this, but unfazed. He cast me a stern look. "Customarily, I don't permit my companions to drink to excess."

His tone gave me pause, and I could scarcely keep the derision out of voice, but I somehow accomplished it. "Mr. Grey, please don't let it rile you. While I have not had the delight of meeting your previous companions, trust that I am quite aware of my own limitations." The Soft Voice was back in force, and she wasn't taking any prisoners, no pun intended. He seemed satisfied with this, and favored me with a smile.

"So, Ms. Sarci, let's talk frankly. What are you objectives for with this arrangement?" Lawer Stel took over again, as I discretely grab my clutch and my Android. Soft Voice is tucked away, as I stabbed a few commands into my phone. Grey looked annoyed, but tolerated this minor drop in etiquette.

"I apologize, but I must have you sign this non-disclosure agreement before we continue our discussion," I stated matter-of-factly. "Due to the sensitive nature of this conversation, and my chosen profession outside of this realm, I feel the need to protect myself legally." Grey looked furious for a split second, and then laughed out loud.

"Finally, someone who's prepared" he chuckled, reaching into his jacket for his own NDA. "But then, I've never considered an arrangement with anyone who had near as much to lose as me by a breach of confidentiality."

Relieved by a break in the tension, Soft Voice returns. I handed my phone to him to review my NDA, and began to scan his. After a few moments, we both have completed our review, and are satisfied. We both knew this was just this appetizer, as far as contracts go. The next one would be much more engrossing. I signed his NDA, and deftly flip my pen to the stylus side so he can sign mine. He did so, and handed back the pen and the phone. Before he can put his signed original back in his jacket, I snap a few quick shots of each page for my records.

"I'll email you a fully-executed copy of mine as well. " He was outwardly impressed by this show of technological prowess. "You do have an email address, right?" He rolled his eyes at me, and suddenly leaned close across the table.

"Yes, and if you're very lucky, I might just give it to you." His look intensified to something beyond anything previous. It slowly began to dawn on my why women obsessed over him. This man wielded sexual tension like a broadsword. Little did he know how ill-equipped he was for his current quarry.

"Something tells me we're not talking email addresses anymore." I played right into his game. Batting my eyelashes, I gave him the look. The "oooh big intimidating sex man I'm really scared look". Typically, I reserve that one for the dungeon, but something told me that he'd need that extra bolster to his ego. I was utterly correct. His eyes flashed dangerously; in a way that I'm sure has made other women cringe and weep. For me, The Wee Free Men undulated without restraint, although now I imagined them with kilts, singing drunkenly in broken English. Externally, I quickly flitted my lashes back to his collar, selling my faux-fright. Internally, I was cavorting in the flames with the Wee Free Men singing seas shanties, and drinking copious amounts of JW Blue.

The food arrived, and I was famished. My scallops are gone in short order, and Grey followed suit. For a brief moment, both of us forgot the contract and rules of engagement, and just enjoyed a meal together. He talked about his latest sailing excursion; I chimed in with some details about my last European trip. We found that we have a fair amount in common outside of how we choose spend our private time; we both enjoy fly fishing and flying (my dad's favorite pastime and profession), we both speak fluent French (although his German and Italian were a bit rusty for my tastes.) Both of our mothers are physicians, his being a pediatrician and mine being a surgeon. We both have a brother and sister as well, and our brother's even share a name. Even in this sociable atmosphere, I neglected to go into further detail. While his family history has been the subject of biographies and college course packs, I still had the luxury of keeping mine private, and I told him so.

"Ms. Sarci, you like to play your cards close to the vest. I value that kind of approach." He leaned back from the candlelight, the flickering light seeping out of his eyes, casting them nearly as black as mine. In the shadows, he took on a more primal appearance, this face a study of light and darkness. For the first time in his presence, I felt something indefinable. That near imperceptible pull just below my navel. _Lust. What the hell? Ten minutes ago I was making ginger jokes._ My thoughts made their way back to his nether regions, and this time there wasn't a dancing pixie in sight. A true blush filled my cheeks, and he noticed before I could correct myself. He reached forward and nearly brushed the side of my face with his fingertips. I matched his gaze, my bottom lip slipping under my top teeth. His eyes widened.

Now for me, this quirk was a habit I'd picked up from my dad. He would plant his teeth into his lower lip to signify two things: either he was about to get his hands dirty with one of the endless projects in his workshop, or (and much more likely), he'd just noticed one of his loved ones (wife/kids/dog) was having a peaceful moment, and was in dire need of a good teasing. The sound of Dad going "hmmm hmm _hmmmmmm!"_, broke Grey's spell, and I drew away from his touch. The waiter came to clear the dinner plates, and I took a bracing sip of scotch. _Get a hold of yourself, Stel._

With dinner polished off and the pomegranate tiramisu en route, we returned to business.

"Mr. Grey, I must make you aware, if you're not already. I'm not your typical submissive. The experience I provide is a delicate physical/psychological hybrid of both. A switch, if you're familiar with the term. I'm sure you've done your research on my specialties, if you've come all this way and rented out a hotel in order to engage my companionship."

He smirked at this admittedly over-exaggerated assumption. "Ms. Sarci, you flatter me. While it is true that I would rent out an entire hotel and the whole of the Magnificent Mile for a evening of your illustrious company, I am seeking precisely the experience you describe. And believe me, Ms. Sarci, I could rent the Magnificent Mile, and I would have you in every room, against every wall, and on every countertop, tabletop and desktop of every building on every block. And have no problem making it back to the boardroom in Seattle on Monday morning, without more than the most insignificant dip in my personal portfolio."

_Now who was over exaggerating?_ I resisted the urge to raise my eyebrows with incredulity, settling on a low whistle. Leaning in close, I dropped my voice so he could just hear me. "I have no doubts of your financial standing, sir. But in regards to the currency we're presently discussing, you may find that I am just as, if not more, wealthy than you. There's quite a bit for you to live up to with that claim, we'll just have to see if you can. For myself, I may just accept the case, if your terms are to my liking." I've always enjoyed a good challenge in the dungeon, and he seemed to be shaping up into a worthy opponent.

The dessert arrived, and again conversation returned to amiable chatter. He had a few legal questions, specifically pertaining to diplomatic issues with African charity work. Soft Voice has left the building, I said to myself launching into the fragile balance between empowering the people on the ground with more than just money, and not allowing any of those funds to find their into the coffers of the local despots. In my view, education and opportunity is what brings not just individuals, but whole communities and eventually nations to the international table. Philanthropy is a major passion of mine, having done summer externships with the Chicago Center for Philanthropy, as well as the Ford Foundation, the philanthropic arm of the Carnegie Foundation in New York. He nodded enthusiastically, mentioning his work in Sub-Saharan Africa. For the second time that evening, all talk of the dirty business at hand was forgotten as our two intellects sparred and parried.

Abruptly, he reached into his jacket again, this time for a much larger sheaf of papers. Here it comes, I thought. Back to the business at hand. And I was right. Well, for the most part. The contract in question was on top; all its depravity spelled out in black and white. However, under it were a few other documents, rough drafts of letters to foreign consulates, diplomats and other philanthropists. _He must retain a veritable fleet of lawyers to go over all these_, I queried to myself, _why on earth would he entrust such sensitive information to a nearly finished law student_? This question must have been clear on my face.

"Ms. Sarci," he began smoothly, "you have more talents that I wish to explore other than just those we've previously discussed. I'd like you retain you on a legal basis as well, as your particular foci makes you uniquely qualified to assist in the establishment of my foundation. I will compensation you generously for this, outside of your _contract_ stipend."

"Typically, I don't mix business-business with pleasure-business, but in this case Mr. Grey, I can make an exception." He had hit on the one issue that would prompt me to make such a decision. I folded up the paperwork, and tucked them neatly into my clutch. I rose, feeling that it was time to draw the evening to a close. He stood in turn, extending his hand. I gripped his wrist at the cuff, instinctively avoiding his fingertips.

"I look forward to hearing from you, Ms. Sarci. In consideration of both matters." His easy smile had returned, attempting to melt the spine of any woman in view.

"It's been splendid, Mr. Grey. And pending the review of these formalities, I do believe that we will be able to come to an accord."


	3. Chapter 3

I stepped away from the darkened corner, scanning the crowd for Cain. Unsurprisingly, he was surrounded by women. With his sandy brown hair, muscular physique and easy smile, Cain is never short of female attention. I caught his eye, and he politely excused himself and offered his arm to me.

"How did it go?" He queried, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face.

"How do you think, wiseass? The contract is in my clutch. Apparently he also wants to retain me for legal counsel as well. We'll have to see if his terms are agreeable." As we stepped out onto the chilly street, I pulled my pashmina closer around me. Cain, ever the gentleman, shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it on my shoulders. It hung past my knees, and looked vaguely like a trenchcoat, but it kept me warm as we waited for the valet.

I threw Cain the keys to my car, a rip-roaring red classic that gets my heart humming along with it's six-cylinder engine. In the rearview mirror, I could see the crowd of guests, waiting for their four-wheeled status symbols. It's always fascinated me how people vie for superiority in social situations like this. Through the crowd, I catch a pair of pewter eyes. Grey is looking disdainfully at my car, or maybe just at the plume of blue smoke that follows the roar of the engine as Cain hits the gas. On the way to our house in Bucktown, my phone vibrated in my clutch. The text was from an unknown number.

Is that Mr. West's car?

Grey. It had to be. I tapped back: Mine.

Almost instantaneously: Is that thing safe?

Safe? I felt my temper rising. _Is the controlling thing already starting, Grey?_ I swiped my finger aggressively on the screen: Very safe. Classic. Contract has not started yet.

Again, my vibrated the minute I sent the message: Can't fault me for research, Ms. Sarci. I suggest you do yours as well. G'night.

I squinted at the screen, tapping out (literally and figuratively): The prosecution rests, your honor. Good evening, Mr. Grey.

Cain was giving me a sideways smile, while weaving the car through the Saturday night traffic.

Our place was a historic rowhouse that we had both recently help to renovate. Cain and I had our bedrooms upstairs, and our friends Arch and Gwyn occupied the downstairs. Arch's grandmother had owned the place for nearly half a century before she and his grandfather retired to their native Costa Rica and left the place to Arch. I had met him in my first class at Northwestern; he a pre-medical student, and me pre-law, we bonded over our love of bad movies and great Vietnamese food and became fast friends. By sophomore year, I'd moved out of the dorms, and into the upstairs bedroom with my high school buddy, Gwyn. It took two whole years for Arch to work up the courage to ask Gywn out, and within the next year, she moved downstairs and they were engaged. Both were now both residents at Northwestern, Arch specializing in cardiac surgery and Gwyn in pulmonology. Cain completed our merry little band a short time later, toward the end of my junior year in college.

Cain pulled the car into the garage behind the house, next to Arch's Triumph motorcycle, that he had been painstakingly restoring with his brother. Cain's massive BMW R69S with sidecar was draped with its cover on the other side. It was rainy ride in that sidecar that had set all these events in motion only four short years ago.

The Metra had been shut down while I was in class that day, and the buses were of course overwhelmed, accommodating the crush of unexpected passengers. It was about 9 miles to home, but I had a friend in Rogers Park whose place I could stay at until Gwyn got out of class. I had been walking about 20 minutes when I heard the sound of a motorcycle idling behind me. I ignored it, quickening my step. The rider pulled into the parking lot right before me, and cut the engine. He removed his helmet, and there was Cain West. The rain splattered off his leather jacket, and quickly soaked his then-blonde hair. I was intrigued, but still very cautious. I was smart enough to know a handsome face doesn't make a stranger any less dangerous. He sensed my apprehension, and approached me slowly.

"Hi, I'm Cain. I know this is a little out of the ordinary, but you look like you need a ride. I take it you're a student," gesturing at my messenger bag. I nodded. "So am I," he said, reaching into his jacket. I nearly broke out into a full sprint at this, but he merely pulled out his wallet and produced his Northwestern ID card.

"I'm an engineering student, and I promise I won't murder you." He gave me a crooked smile, trying to gauge if I got the joke.

"You'd better not, because I have finals next week. My name is Estele Sarci. Do you need to see my ID as well?"

He laughed, extending his hand. "No, I trust you, Estele. Can I offer you a ride anywhere?"

"Sure, but only if I can buy you a drink to thank you. I'm in Bucktown."

Back in the present, we walked in the back door of the house, greeted by the delectable smell of patacones, fried plantains that was Arch's favorite midnight snack. He and Gwyn were reviewing journals and catching up on dictation at the kitchen table. They were finishing up their third year of residency, and it was a rare treat to see them both together and awake. As busy as they were, we knew better than to interrupt. Cain and I each grabbed a plate of patacones, he dousing his in ketchup (bleh), and headed into the living room to crash on the sofa. I patted my two friends on the shoulder as I passed, and they took a moment to smile up at me before continuing their notes.

Settling in, Cain and I began to rehash the evening."So, what did you think of the boy wonder?" he teased, poking me lightly in the side.

I picked up a soft yellow disc and chewed thoughtfully. "Arrogant, egotistical, thinks the world revolves around him. In short, nothing I can't handle."

"That simple, huh?"

"I didn't say that. I would never call this 'simple'. I think I'm going to have to take a different approach with this one, that's for sure."

Cain gave my knee a quick squeeze. "I'm sure he'll be no trouble for you, and the potential stipend could make a significant dent in your loans. That's what you're in for, right?" I smirked in a agreement, and stole the last plaintain from his plate

"Bwahaha, delicious snack food is mine!" I shouted, and kicking off the heels, ran upstairs to my room. Cain gave chase, catching up with me in my room.

"Now you must hear about my boring evening being surrounded by attractive available women!" he yelled, launching himself onto my bed.

Now giggling uncontrollably, I escaped into my closet and locked the off the RDOD, I grabbed my pajamas from the hook on the back of the door and threw them on.I pushed the door open, and Cain pounced, scooping me up in a bear hug.

"Aren't you _just dyyyying_to hear what Ashlee, and Mandee and Sandee and Brandee had to say?" He tilted his head and looked longingly at the ceiling. "You know girls like that are only after one thing."

"The magic stick, of course!" I escape from his grasp, brandishing an invisible wand in his direction. I wasn't the only one whose professional and personal life tended to intermingle. Cain had used his considerable electrical engineering knowledge to come up with a modified electrical prod for use in his dungeon. He called it the magic wand, and it boasted 5 intensity settings, color-changing LED lights, and a personalized silicone grip. A marvel of technical innovation, to be sure.

He smiled, advancing with his own invisible wand. After watching him pretend to stab the air a few times, I fell back on to the bed, legs jerking comically.

"Damn you and your orgasm stick, you've got me again!" I wailed, hurling a pillow at him. He deftly dodged this assault, and moved to the door with a flourish, now peering over the top of his arm which had swept forth an imaginary cape.

"Good evening to you ma'am, my work here is done! He poked his wand one last time, and with a cackle and a slam of the door, he was gone.

Shaking my head to myself, I prepared for bed in the adjacent bathroom, propped up a pile of pillows behind me, and devoured a few chapters of Camus before falling asleep with the bedside light on.

In night, someone had turned the light off, so a dreary Sunday morning greeted me the following day. The rain pelted the windows, and took longer than usual to haul myself out of bed. I slipped a large, furry robe about me, coupled with matching gorilla slippers. I could hear one of my roommates beginning the morning routine downstairs, so I headed down to help.

Passing the sofa, I noticed my red clutch. _The contract_, I thought, grabbing it on my way to kitchen. Gwyn was up first, in lavender scrubs and a stethoscope about her neck. She bustled around the kitchen distractedly, methodically grabbing everything she would need for a day (or two) at the hospital. Her curly, auburn locks were back in a high ponytail, with stray strands flying every which way. She smiled when she saw me, and I noticed the earbuds in her ears. I knew better than to get in the way of Hurricane Gwyn, so I quickly grabbed a large mug from the cabinet, and poured some brew from the full glass carafe on the counter.

With my morning coffee fresh from the french press, and my red felt-tip pen at the ready, I pulled the swath of paper from my clutch, and began to read. I was unimpressed with the overall format. A frivolous thing it may be, but this document looked like it had been hastily cobbled together by a paralegal on three hours of sleep, four redbulls and no greater legal reference than Wikipedia. The top read:

CONTRACT  
Made this day_ of 2010 ("The Commencement Date")

BETWEEN  
MR. CHRISTIAN GREY of 301 Escala, Seattle, WA 98889  
("The Dominant")

MS. ESTELE SARCI of 2322 W. Charles Ave, Chicago, IL 60647  
("The Submissive") **_Switch_**

THE PARTIES AGREE AS FOLLOWS  
1 The following are the terms of a binding contract between the Dominant and the Submissive **_Switch_**.

FUNDAMENTAL TERMS  
2 The fundamental purpose of this contract is to allow the Submissive**_Switch_** to explore her sensuality and her limits safely, with due respect and regard for her needs, her limits and her wellbeing.

I crinkled by brow and lined out the word "submissive" everywhere I could find it, replacing it with "switch".

"Wouldn't have killed him to have done his due dilligence" I grumbled. Also,_'explore her sexuality and her limits safely'? Where's the fun in that_? I snorted with laughter, the smell of coffee invading my sinuses. Gwyn started at this, and I waved her off, eyes watering. _I guess the sword swallowing and knife juggling is out with this one._

The Dominant may discipline the Submissive **_Switch_** as necessary to ensure the Submissive Switch fully appreciates her role of subservience to the Dominant and to discourage unacceptable conduct. The Dominant may flog, spank, whip or corporally punish the Submissive **_Switch_** as he sees fit, for purposes of discipline, for his own personal enjoyment, or for any other reason, which he is not obliged to provide.

"No 'magic wands' here," I sighed. I supposed my wizard had spoiled me. _Flogging, spanking aaaaand whipping,_I gaffawed to myself. _Is that all? Surely with all the on the agenda, when will we have time to have any real fun?_

The Dominant shall not loan his Submissive **_Switch_** to another Dominant.

_Aw damnit, just when I thought I'd be able to get a change of scenery now and again._

The Submissive **_Switch_** shall not touch or pleasure herself sexually without permission from the Dominant.

This warranted a addendum. "In the event that the Dominant in unable to fulfill the sexual requirements of the Switch, she'll be permitted to do so for herself. Such failure will be noted to the Dominant."

The Submissive **_Switch_** will ensure that she procures oral contraception and ensure that she takes it as and when prescribed to prevent any pregnancy.

_Oral? What is this, 1970? Mr. Grey would need to informed of three glorious letters. IUD._

Getting to sex acts, I sipped my coffee thoughtfully reading his frankly tame indications. Gah, this boy does like his toys, I thought, and jotted down a quick note.

The Dominant will not interpose any foreign object within the Switch (this includes but is not limited to ST) unless the Dominant has no intention of regaining possession of said object.

"And that goes double for your fist," I mutter under my breath. I could handle pretty much everything that the scene has to offer. But I would not be made to carry things around like a marsupial. I could hear the digeridoo just thinking about it.

After an hour or so of review, my notes were ready. The contract was a red mess, with lines crossed out, notes in the margins, and every other blank bit of space covered in my absentminded doodles. Heading back up to my room, I clicked open my laptop. While it booted, I responded to the text from the night before.

Review complete. I have notes. Email?

While checking my email, a text came back with an address. I popped it into the To: field, and left it open as I began to organize and transcribe my notes.

In a few minutes, the chicken scratch was legible and coherent, and I typed in a quick response:

From: E. E. Sarci, JD, Esq.  
Subject: Contractual Notes  
Date: June 3 2010 9:23  
To: C. Grey

Attachment: Contract 2010

Dear Mr. Grey,

Please note the attachment with the annotated copy of the contract as discussed last evening, in addition to the fully executed copy of the CDA. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any queries that may arise.

E. E. Sarci, JD, Esq  
University of Chicago Law, C/O 2010

Within a few minutes of a session of Portal, my phone and computer go off simultaneously. _No exploring dimensions for me today, duty calls._

From: C. Grey  
Subject: RE: Contractual Notes  
Date: June 3 2010 9:57  
To: E. E. Sarci, JD, Esq.

Dear Ms. Sarci

I appreciate the prompt reply, and professional manner. Are you available tomorrow afternoon to discuss these redactions?

Christian Grey  
CEO, Grey Enterprise Holdings, Inc

A sarcastic though crossed me mind, and about an or so hour later, I wrote back.

From: E. E. Sarci, JD, Esq.  
Subject: My Other Obsession  
Date: June 3 2010 11:11  
To: C. Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

Only if I get to play Portal today without being disturbed. Let me know time/place. and I will certainly be there.

E. E. Sarci, JD, Esq  
University of Chicago Law, C/O 2010

A few minutes later, just my phone reacted.

You too? ;)


	4. Chapter 4

4.  
_This room smells ancient. No, that's not quite the right word. It's primeval. There's a certain grace to the dank odor, like curling up inside your favorite old book. The cover is tattered, the pages are worn, but there's something undeniably comforting about it. It is dark, with an exception of the scattered light emanating from the tall pillar candles arranged in the center of the room. I am cloaked in red, with my fingertips clasping ever tighter around the neck of a man who only a few short hours ago was a nothing more than a dear friend. He's coaxing me to continue, his powerful hands rhythmically squeezing my forearms. His eyelashes flutter and dance in the candlelight, those hazel eyes plead with me, and I become a Dominant..._

The cafe where Mr. Fifteen had chosen to meet up was like so many others in Wicker Park; darkly painted walls, polished wood surfaces, filled with Columbia College kids working on their latest independent movie manuscript on MacBooks, and it turned into a bar at 5pm. In other words, while it was not the place I would have chosen, it was anonymous enough. I wore a scarf over my hair, and a dark pair of sunglasses, in case anyone I knew spotted me. I would never hear the end of it if Cain saw me in a tragically hip place like this. Sauntering up to the counter, I ordered three shots of espresso over ice, and headed to an unoccupied corner booth near the back. I rummaged in my purse, and added a quick tilt of scotch to my rapidly cooling coffee. Something told me that I would need both to relax and keep my wits about me.

I had been sitting reading a dog-eared copy of Sartre, my ritualistic read the other ten times I had been in this situation when I felt compelled to look up. There was Grey, this time in dark jeans, white sneakers, and a heather grey polo shirt with the top two buttons undone. He wore a black straw trilby with a white band, and titanium aviator sunglasses. A feeling very much like that which had overcome me at dinner began to wash over me again. _This man certainly knows how to work from a position of power, _I thought. Fortunately, he was in good company in that regard. Closing my book on the table, I stood to greet him.

"Glad to see I'm not the only one keeping a low profile, Ms. Sarci" he noted, indicating my scarf and the sunglasses on the table. He removed his specs, and hooked them into the open collar of his shirt. "You look lovely as always. Do you have a drink?" I motioned to the near empty glass by my book. "Good. I bought you a panini as well. Shall we begin?"

"Of course, sir. Please, sit with me."

I sat back down, and pulled the printout of the redacted contract out of the back of my book. I never did see the point of all the pageantry and paperwork. Given my chosen profession, you'd think I'd have the contrary opinion. Perhaps since my business life is buried in it, I prefer my extracurricular excursions to be free of such trappings. _It's all part of the illusion_, I told myself, retrieving my "sexy librarian" spectacles from my snap purse. I perched them on my nose, and began to review my numerous notes, flipping directly to the appendixes.

He looked across the table, impassive. I busied myself reading. A flag I had placed on a certain section caught my eye. Something I hadn't noted before. Some topics needed to be broached delicately, and face to face.

"Sir, I see here a limitation on breath control. From my understanding, you are an experienced practitioner, with a taste for certain proclivities. Since you were the one to seek out my, shall we say, services, I can comfortably conclude that you have more than a perfunctory understanding of my specialties?"

He nodded, raising an eyebrow in interest.

"Breath control, as you so euphemistically refer to it here, happens to be one of mine. To put it quite bluntly sir, I'm not colloquially known as 'Ms. Soffocarsi' for nothing. I _choke_my clients Mr. Grey, pure and simple.

He bristled visibly at this, but I was not budging on this one. "Look, Mr. Grey, this is a mutually beneficial arrangement. I derive a great amount of satisfaction from 'breath control', and in my skilled hands, so will you."

His shaky intake of breath was near imperceptible. I pounced on this moment of vulnerability. "It's acceptable to you, then" I grinned with relish. _It's a tact that will serve me well in the courtroom soon_, I thought to myself.

Brandishing a red felt tip marker, I lined out the exclusion. Scanning further down the list, I got to fitness and intake requirements. "I trust this is customary contract language." I'm not sure of your previous entanglements, sir, although I did conduct a thorough check of your references, but rest assured I pride myself on my appearance and well-being. I will cede control in certain, even most areas to you, but these shall be my responsibility alone. Besides, I already work with a fitness instructor five times a week. "You don't get the reputation I have without hard work, Grey."

"An excellent point, Ms. Sarci. And no less than what I would expect from a keen legal mind such as yours. But I must insist that you finish your sandwich before we continue your negotiation." _A feeder_, I made a mental note.

"I know the significance of that requirement, I've done my homework." my voice softened slightly. "I've worked with Speiseleitung dominants before. I can abide by that provision, and I know you'll find a have a healthy appetite for whatever you can dish up." I popped the rest of Panini in my mouth, and smiled widely once I had swallowed.

There seemed to be a distinct temperature change in this room with this statement, and I worked my advantage. "As far as every available weekend, that's off the table. My home is Chicago, and flying eight times a month is 'hard limit'. In exchange, I can give you a week a month. We both have demanding schedules, so I think we can accommodate that way. Any further time can be negotiated ad hoc, and will have to take place in Chicago, at my discretion."

His face fell a bit at this, so I offered a concession "I have interviews for firms on the Pacific coast on my calendar, if we need be, we can compromise on a neutral meeting place on those designated days"

At this, he brightened slightly, reaching for his smartphone. I whip out my Android, and we synchronized our schedules.

"Blackberry? Really? What are you, fifty?" He grimaced and mumbled something about company security.

"I have a weekend in San Francisco in late July, outside of our pre-established limits, as well weekday interview San Diego in August. That should be enough to be going on with, I said, wirelessly sending him the dates.

"Back to the business at hand, I see plenty of mention of typical methods of punishment, but none of the more deviant and specialty means. Am I to understand you're not interested in extreme/elemental stimulation?" My voice was quite calm, but probing.

Grey cocked his head to one side, looking very much like a terrier that's just been shown an elaborate card trick.

"Hmmm, I see." I failed to hide my frustration at his fledgling experience. _What did you do with the fourteen before me? No wonder he needs 3 words to describe a beating. _I continue, "What I'm referring to is fire or branding punishment, electrical stimulation, simulated drowning, suspension, physical crushing and the like. Are you familiar with any of these?"

With each word, his eyes grow wider, until they seem to engulf his entire face. He didn't look cocky at all anymore. The plain truth was, he looked startled, but with a hovering of morbid interest. Recovering slightly, he said "Do go on, Ms. Sarci."

I continued, "Well, I'm going to take for granted that you know what each of those I mentioned entails. I suppose I'll begin by asking you what other submissives preferred or requested. Everyone has their tastes, and I'm interested to know what types of punishment you have administered or have been subjected to in the past."

He took a moment and looked upward, replaying instances in his mind, I'm sure. "My previous submissives tended to be, how shall I put this delicately, _less experienced_. I primarily prefer to train my companions to suit my exacting expectations. What I have described in the contract is the outline of those expectations." His voice put a slight edge on the last word.

This was not the answer I was hoping for, so I changed tactics. "I am student of history, Mr. Grey. I favor the use of psychological strategy to enhance my experience, as well as those of my clients. Your previous experience notwithstanding, I assure you that what I am, and what I have to offer is wholly separate. If you are open other such methods, I would be happy to initiate you."

Taking a small sip from what was now mostly scotch-flavored water and weak coffee, I went on. "You're acquainted with the Milgram experiment? It tends to be a favorite of Dominants. Essentially, it's a test to see how far someone will go in order to obey an authority figure."

"Of this I'm quite aware, Ms. Sarci. And I might ask you: how far are you willing to go to obey me?"

I locked eyes with him, and leaned in, a fraction of an inch from his mouth. Speaking just loud enough for him to hear, I hissed, "further than you have ever gone, or would ever want to go, I am certain." My lips just brushed his as I spoke, and I withdrew to my side of table before he had time to react.

Grey's silver eyes had widened, and the irises changed to nearly duplicate his now-ghostly pallor. I traced my index finger on the rim of the glass of coffee, waiting for him to recuperate.  
"I'll trust your judgement, Ms. Sarci, as you will trust in mine." He voice quavered in the slightest.

"For myself, I have a Stockholm Syndrome inclination. I suppose in certain company, you would call it a fetish. You're acquainted with a kidnapping s/D scenario, Mr. Grey?" Again he appeared perplexed. "Research," I directed firmly but not unkindly. "And please do not tell me what you find. _Show me, _when you feel the situation is optimal."

He nodded, his expression reflecting poorly-concealed enthusiasm. "You've given me quite the homework assignment. I'm unaccustomed to being the less informed party in any transaction, but I wouldn't say it's an unpleasant position. I shall conduct a thorough investigation, the results of which will be revealed to you as circumstances warrant."

This garnered him a wily smile from me. I was altogether gratified with how things were playing out. I'd never worked with a Dominant that had his background: plenty of previous submissives, yet a severely limited scope on how he had dealt with them. It was akin to playing Monopoly with someone who up until this time had circled the board endlessly, but had never thought to buy any property. And now this hapless soul had just landed on my prime piece of real estate: hotel-covered Boardwalk.  
I decided it was best to lighten the mood. "Now that the limits and expectations are established, it's time to determine what our code shall be." I couldn't hide my grin at this point. I was my favorite part of the proceedings.

Grey looked quizzical. "Code? You continue to surprise me, Ms. Sarci."

"That's the first thing to go," I said slyly. "From here forward, we will no longer address each other by our names. Also, given our arrangement, I think that referring to one another as "dominant" and "submissive" would be more than a little gauche. I mean, we both know what we're getting into here, and that entire "master" and "sub" dichotomy has never done it for me. In the past, I have preferred a numerical system. Given that there have been fourteen before me, and ten before you, I contend that from here forth, you are Mr. Eleven and I am Ms. Fifteen."

"Intriguing as ever, - I mean, Ms. Fifteen. I must admit I'm fond of these numeral affectations."

I impatiently dismissed his approval, moving on to my next recommendation. "I require an environment, Mr. Eleven. An illusion, because ultimately we're just playing cops and robbers for adults without pants on. Given my penchant for mixing business with pleasure, and the nature of our hybrid arrangement, I think it's only appropriate we employ the jargon of the legal realm."

He favored me with a wry smile. "So which one of us is the plantiff?" he mused.

I leaned in closer. "Depends on the day, I suppose. As far as the judge is concerned, there's only one person at this table with near a juris doctorate" I teased.

He matched my gaze, "Oh, I think you'll find that I'm much more comfortable as the prosecutor, Ms. Fifteen. Cross-examining the witness is something I take immense gratification in."

"My prowess as a litigant is more than capable. I look forward to your petition."

With that, I slipped my glasses back into my purse, and gazed into his pewter eyes. My chin was propped up neatly on my interlaced fingers as I appraised him. With very little warning, his hand darted forward, and seized my lower jaw. He pulled me across the table bringing my mouth within millimeters of his. I parted my lips and breathed forth a whiff of coffee and scotch. He drew in his breath sharply and branded my mouth with a kiss. It was deep, burning, and did it's damnedest to cut me to my core.

It did not succeed.

I returned the embrace, with interest. With little maneuvering, I drew his bottom lip into my warm mouth, favoring it with fluttering of playful biting. He groaned softly, and I attempted to draw away. He held my chin fast and squeezed. I opened my eyes and stared at his out-of-perspective face. For the slightest of moments, our eyes met, and he disengaged, never breaking eye contact.

"I hope you enjoyed that, Ms. Fifteen. The terms have begun. That's the last time I'll allow it, without _serious _consequences."

"After your research session, we'll just have to see just how _serious _your consequences are."


	5. Chapter 5

_It's distant and oddly soothing, this feeling. While I feel the sting of the electronic prod, his hands on every part of me, hear his deadly cold voice, it's as though they are happening miles away. All I can feel now is this sense of serenity, my mind as blank as my gaze, and submitting to his every whim. From a faraway place I hear him calling me, ever more urgent, he sounds frightened, like he has gone too far, too fast. My head swings up and I smile slowly. He has no idea what kind of Pandora's box he's just opened. I am a submissive. _

Cain had awoken me from a rather deep slumber with light tap on the door. He ducked his head in.

"Um, Stel, there's a package for you." He looked perplexed, an appearance he doesn't often take. Intrigued, I sat up, groggily rubbing my eyes.

"Well, where is it?" I yawned. He reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a small brown paper covered box, tied neatly with a silver ribbon. Cain handed it to me, idling in the doorway to see what the package held.

I raised a skeptical brow, and pulled the bow free. Inside was a set of car keys, a gleaming Audi logo on the keyfob. Also, there was a note:

Ms. Fifteen,  
I've taken the liberty of procuring you this vehicle, as well as a similar one in Seattle. I trust it is to your liking. I will make arrangements for the disposal of your current car.  
Respectfully,  
Mr. Eleven

I re-read the note four or five times, my temper rising as I did so. _Who did this overindulgent prick think he was?_ My car was a classic, a 1982 AMC Eagle SX4 sport liftback that I had spent every damn available moment in high school scouring the junkyards for parts for, and any other working on it with my dad. I had saved up a month's worth of pay from my summer job to have it custom painted black cherry red. I furiously grabbed my Android and quickly scrolled to his name. I clicked the speech to text button and dictated, using every last effort I had to keep myself from shouting:

"Mr. Eleven, while Ms. Fifteen appreciates your consideration, it is not to my liking. I have a car in Chicago, and you will have to do better if you want me to drive one of yours. Please cancel any disposal arrangements."

The response came back nearly instantaneously.

Will cancel plans for your AMC. Will arrange pick up of Audi, and send another.

I took a quite glance at the time on my phone display. 6:49am. Doing a quick bit of math, I deduced that it was 4:49am on the west coast. When this man found time to work or sleep is still a mystery to me.

For myself, I had a very important day ahead of me. I flopped over onto my stomach, and planted my face firmly into the pillow with a "thwack!" It was graduation day, the culmination of years upon years of higher education, and the only thing in my mind was how I was going to punish Eleven as soon as I was able. The mattress shifted, and Cain's reassuring hand settled on my back.

"Calm down, kiddo. You've got bigger fish to fry today."

I muttered a few choice expletives into my pillow, although I was pretty sure Cain only heard "Like hell you're going to... privileged piece of... I aught to make... you just wait until I... strangle the everloving…"

Cain broke into my sweet nothings of mass destruction. "With a mouth like that, you'd think your father was a sailor, not a pilot" he poked. I rattled off a few extra for his benefit, and turned a pouty scowl toward Cain. He didn't seem to be affected, theatrically clutching at metaphorical pearls at his throat, and fanning himself with his other hand. "I do declare, Ms. Sarci, your language is not fit for civilized ears!"

While it was exceedingly hilarious to watch a man of Cain's considerable size engage in such histrionics, I felt it was time for an end to the ridicule. I couldn't afford to get myself all wound up on a day like this. My hand crept out from under the covers, and rhythmically squeezed his wrist in short intervals.. Tight, loose, tight, loose, tight, tight, tight, loose. EES. My initials in Morse code. A system we had devised to let the other know, in no uncertain terms, who was in control. Cain immediately stopped his melodrama, and reached for his throat intuitively. I sat up, and gave him a curt nod. A knowing smile crossed his lips, and he patted me on the top of my head as he got up.

"I'll go make breakfast then," he stated as he headed out the door. He grabbed the package from my bedside table, and added "I'll take care of these as well, if someone should come looking before you get up. Although I think you'd look just _precious_ in an Audi!" He slammed the door just before my pillow hit him full in the face, and I could hear him guffawing his way to the kitchen.

"There had better be bacon!" I shouted after him, in a weak attempt at having the last word. My eyes scanned my bedroom, settling first on the overcast sky outside my window, and finally on the two ensembles on the back of the closet door. One was a dove-toned tea-length silk chiffon dress my mother has sent me from Korea. Much to my delight, it was the same pale grey that Mr. Fifteen's eyes went when I first told him I had plans to choke him. I chuckled to myself at the memory.

Behind that was a sensible skirt suit; subtle black herringbone, with lavender blouse and matching satin camisole. It was one of my interview suits, but I was debating on whether it would suit graduation as well. As I deliberated, I felt a pulsation on the duvet.

Alternative automobile is enroute. Please let me know what you think. Congratulations and best of luck today. Heading to Z for TC if you need anything. 11.

I picked up the phone, still miffed from before, and deciding immediately on the "choke" dress.

I will do just that, and thank you. I will see you next Friday. 15.

The weather promised to be gloomy, so I paired the dress with a bright coral scarf and sandals. I even put my hair up for the occasion, sweeping long inky bangs across my forehead, and securing them with a two black clips. The back was twisted into a french knot, set with more pins than I cared to count. I just about to head downstairs when there was a tentative knock on the door.

"Stel, are you re... Oh, _damn_. You look spectacular." Cain had entered the room, bearing yet another silver-ribboned box. I shot him a sarcastic look and took the box from him. This time, there was more than one gift inside.

Ms. Fifteen,  
I hope this convertible is more to your standards. It is one of my favorites, and a car I own myself. Also, I saw this and thought of you. I trust you'll wear it today.  
Sincerely, Mr. Eleven.

My fingers slid across the smooth string of tiny pearls. From its center hung a glittering sapphire. It was easily the size of a marble. I turned it over in my hands, marveling at its beauty, its flawlessness. I'm not typically impressed my shiny trinkets, but this was magnificent. I held it up to the light, the rainbow facets scattering on my face.

"He's marking you as his." Cain's voice was quiet and serious. He gently grabbed the pearls from me, and unclasped the strand. I reached forward to grasp one end, holding out my hand. The sapphire glided down into my palm, and I put it back into the box. Cain seemed to relax at that, and reached behind me to fasten the clasp.

I looked up into his eyes. "I belong to no one, Mr. West. Not for keeps." His hazel gaze rested on the necklace, and he leaned in to kiss my forehead.

"You belong to me enough of the time for me to take a strong interest in your welfare." He looked for all the world like a wolf protecting his den. "If he wants to possess you, it's under my terms," he growled. Until that point, I'd never seen Cain possessive. Even his dungeon persona wasn't possessive in nature. He held me out at arm's-length. "Remember _everything _ I taught you, and if he goes even an iota over the line, hit him with your _worst_. I know I'm the one who started this, but there's something about this guy that puts me off immensely." I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up his hand and continued. "I _know _you can handle yourself. Just don't hold back with this one. You're too nice for your own good sometimes." With that, he again pressed his lips to my forehand, and walked swiftly out of the room.

A little taken aback, I closed my eyes and twisted the long strand in my fingers. Cain and I had been friends since that rainy evening. He graduated a few months later, and started an engineering externship downtown. That summer, he moved in with me, Arch and Gwyn.  
I had just finished my first semester of law school, and my parents and brother were celebrating the holidays in Seoul, and my sister was studying abroad in Europe. I decided to forgo a holiday spent mostly in airports, and stay in Chicago. Both Gwyn and Arch had invited me to their holiday festivities, but I decided to stay in the house and hold the fort. I was comfortable with the decision, and made a list of things to do about the house to keep busy. I was in the middle of cleaning the stove and reorganizing the cabinets when there was a commotion at the front door.

"Cain, aren't you supposed to be a on a plane to Monterey?"

He shook the snow from him shoulders, and looked sullen. Letting his backpack slide to the floor, he grumbled, "Short answer: I have to work. Long answer: Dad's got a new girlfriend."

"Nothing a bit of hot, spiced grappa won't help. I got my Christmas present from my great-aunt Sofia early. It will be ready in just a moment." I wiped my hand on my apron, and retrieved two mugs from the drying rack.. From the living room, I heard him turn on the radio, and the house filled with the croon of Dean Martin.

_It's a marshmallow world in the winter,_  
_When the snow comes to cover the ground,_  
_It's the time for play, it's a whipped cream day,_  
_I wait for it all year round._

Cain's cheeks was still flushed from the chill outside, he took up one of the warm mugs, and downed it near in one.

"Careful there, Dino. That's not apple juice you're drinking." In response, he grabbed the other mug and polished it off.

"Cain, take it easy, seriously. The grappa is 80 proof." There was a hint of concern creeping into my voice. I poured myself a new mug of grappa, and took a small sip. It warmed my throat and I felt my face warm slowly. Wrapping up domestic tasks in the kitchen, I headed into the living room.

Cain bestowed a devastating smile on me, his eyes shining and cheeks pink from his revelry. "Who's up for a dance with Dino?" he slurred. I had drank with him on a few occasions, but I'd never seen him drunk before. Upon my entrance, he grasped my hand that wasn't holding a mug. I took one more bracing swig before hastily setting it on the sideboard, and then I was drawn into his arms. His breath was hot and sottish, and I felt the flush in my face dial up a few notches. He belted out the last few lines of the song, furrowing his brow and curling his lip like a Vegas lounge singer.

_It's a yum-yummy world made for sweethearts_  
_Take a walk with your favorite girl_  
_It's a sugar date, what if spring is late_  
_In winter it's a marshmallow woooooooorld!_

And with that, he collapsed on the sofa, with me tumbling with little grace on top of him.

"Alright Mr. West. Time to placate you with some quality vegging out. I struggled to extricate myself, and he manhandled me in his attempt to assist. Do you want to play cards?"  
He shook his head vigorously, throwing a hand imperiously in the air. "Too much thinking. More wine!"

"I think you've had enough, big fella. How about a massage then?" _Although it's not as though you need anything more to relax, silly boy. _ I thought to myself. _I must admit that having him this vulnerable before me, laid out neatly as if on a silver platter, is more than a little arousing. _My mind began to wander, betraying my typical sensibilities. Cain was always in control, at least every time I had been around him. Effortlessly confident and charming, with a mind just as attractive as his physique, Cain was never lacking a date. _Except tonight, _my thoughts were in overdrive. _Tonight, he's all yours._

I forced the temptation out of my mind, and positioned myself behind him on the cushions. For my benefit, he pulled his tee shirt off with a single fluid motion of his left arm up the curve of his spine. His hand dragged lazily over his mussed hair, and down his face. His middle fingertip lingered on his lower lip, and he looked up at me. _Damn you to the four corners of the universe, Mr. West. _

Deciding that my growing tensions would be best released with my hands, above the waist, as it were, I gripped his shoulders and got to work. "Okay, so tell me what happened?"

He growled, half out of pleasure and half out of annoyance. "I don't wanna... Hmmm, keep doing that."

Irritated by his lack of forthcoming, I squeezed his shoulder tighter. He jerked his neck, and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. The hazel had assumed a golden cast, like a predator. "I said, keep doing that." His voice was no longer tinged with the slur of liquor. He sounded authoritative. Mostly out of shock, I obeyed. His chin dropped forward, and he spoke in a smoky tone. "I think we should talk about you instead. You have not been completely honest with me, no have you?"

I stared at the mess of sandy hair with its grown-out blonde tips. I tried to change the subject. "Umm, I think you're due to have your hair touched up. I can do that for you, if you'd like. I moved to shift from behind him, but he thrust his hips backward, pinning me to the spot. This was more than a little unexpected, but I would be remiss to say it was disagreeable to me.

"No. Don't move. Don't stop." My hands slid up his neck, as my access to his back was pretty well restricted. I inverted my hands so my thumbs could massage his collarbones. They met at the hollow of his throat, and, experimentally, I depressed them lightly into the hollow of his throat. His reaction was unmistakable. He twisted and snaked his right arm around me, and before I realized what was happening, I was straddling his lap.

His face with very close to mine, too close. "Estele, tell me the truth." I could smell the sweet grappa on his breath. Cain's voice was a just shy of a whisper. "Do you want to be, well, more than what we have been?" The words he chose were cryptic, but they outlined the situation to perfection.

I answered without thinking "Yes."

He moved to kiss me, and then restrained himself. Hazel met black, and his smirked. "Then it's going to be a very long night."

It always made me smile to think it all started with a bottle of Sicilian grappa, and a failed attempt at a neck massage.

I laughed to myself at the memory, and headed downstairs, leaving the sapphire and the car keys in my nightstand drawer. Cain was waiting, with an abashed expression.

"Look Stel, forget about earlier. You know I'm not the overbearing type."

I put my hand lightly on his arm, "Cain, I know you better than that. And I won't forget what you said, no matter what you say."

He shrugged roughly. "Anyhow, I have a little something for you too. It's not a gem the size of a basketball," he added darkly, offering the small, brightly wrapped box.

I grinned up at him, and began to unwrap the box. "Mr. West, are you becoming sentimental in your dotage? Wrapping my arms around him I looked up at his face, resting my chin on his broad chest. "Thank you, fella." I pulled back and slid the lid off the top of the box. Resting on a pillow of black velvet was choker-length chain, from which hung a slim charm. It bore a strong resemblance to a fencing foil, with a scattering of tiny jewels along the top edge of the blade. I examined it closely for several long minutes, when finally it struck me what it was.

I gave my friend a half-smile. "The magic wand? What jewelry store had one of these in stock?"

Cain laughed. "It's a custom piece, Stel. Although it looks a bit more like a sword than I intended."

"I think it's perfect." I offered the chain to him. "Would you please do the honors?"

"With pleasure, Stel." He reached over and affixed the clasp, his fingertips lingering on the nape of my neck. I turned to face him.

"Looks like someone else is marking their dominion, Mr. West." My nose crinkled.

Cain pretended not to know what I was talking about, and cleared his throat. "I think we should be off. Your cap and gown are already in the car." At this, I was reminded that there was another vehicle awaiting outside. Cain pulled two sets out of his pockets, concealing them in his fists, and presenting them before me.

"Enough games, Mr. West." He smiled enigmatically. "Oh, all right. The left, then." I sighed. He turned over his left hand, and opened his palm. In it was new silver key, with a Mercedes keyfob. _Aw hell, what did Eleven do now? _I thought to myself. Snatching up the keys, I headed for the front door.

On the street was a brand shining new Mercedes SLK in gunmetal silver with a retractable hardtop. I turned to Cain. "What do you think? Is the pleasure of my company worth such a fine motorcar?"

Cain looked up at the Mercedes distractedly. "All your things are in the SX4, do you want to take this instead"

I stopped on sidewalk and turned to face him. "Oh come now, you have to admit, it's a nice set of wheels."

He gave the car a quick once over. "Not for a billionaire with a "b", it's not. My boss has one like this. For his wife. It's not even an AMG, Stel." He furrowed his brow. "228 horsepower, 1.8 liter turbocharged 4 cylinder. Automatic."

At this, I handed the keys back to Cain. "It's a four-banger with an auto? Do I have the right to be slightly offended?"

Cain tossed me the keys to my Eagle, and Cain parked the convertible in the garage. To me, it was like jewelry. It was pretty enough to wear, but it was a thoughtful gift that required no thought. I'd text him when I got home tonight, I thought.

The parking lot of the chapel where the hooding ceremony was to take place was packed. I was to be at the main quad at 8:30am, and I had 15 minutes to make it. Cain held open the black gown for me to slip over my shoulders. I perched the cap on my head. pinning into place with a few spare clips.

My best friend looked me over. "Hmmm, you look good in black. Are you sure you don't want to become a judge?"

"Only if I can wear a large powdered wig, like a British barrister. Sadly, that look didn't seem to catch on in this country."

"What a shame. So, should I call you Dr. Sarci after this?"

"Ah, no. That's mom. I'm just Stel, with a few more letters after my name. The only difference is a sheepskin that says I can recite legal precedent from memory. Rather than just having the ability."

We had reached the general seating area, and he swept me up in a twirl. "Go make me proud, honorable one."

I stuck out my tongue, and trotted away to catch up with my fellow graduates. The general procession flew by, followed by the hooding ceremony in the Chapel, which went off without a hitch. I found my family in the crowd, my mother dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, and had giving me a silent thumbs up. I gave them a small wave as I strode across the stone floor. The weight of my accomplishment hit me, and a fellow classmate handed me a glass of champagne as I headed off to the right. I toasted with a few friends, and downed it quickly. I gazed up at the enormous organ and took a deep breath. Just the Bar exam remained, which I was scheduled to take the last week in July.

There was a law school reception immediately following the ceremony. I had arranged to meet my family in the portico. Not an original idea, I quickly found. Given my diminutive stature, I'm not at my best in a crowd. Even in five inch heels. Thus _he_ found me before I saw him. I felt a strong hand on my shoulder, and quite suddenly, I was looking up into a too-familiar pair of grey eyes.

I was taken aback, and nearly fell backward into the crowd. He pulled me to his side, and as his did so, I hissed in his ear "What the all-fired hell are _you_ doing here? Aren't you supposed to be on a flight to Zurich for a telecommunications summit?"

Mr. Eleven's hand settled comfortably on my hip and he guided me out of the crush of people. I was too shocked to do much else than to snarl vague threats as he did this. As soon as we had a few inches of space, I rounded on him.

"What did I tell you about business and pleasure, Eleven? This is my nine-to-five, this is my life. My family and friends are here, and I have no idea why you are. What you need to do is get out of here, _now_, or..." But I didn't get to finish my threat. I felt a heavy tug on my scarf, and there was Elliott. My big brother. He towered over me and Eleven, and looked at him with a puzzled expression.

Raking his hand through his hair nervously, Eleven extended his hand to my brother and smiled. Elliott wrinkled his nose, and looked at it as though it was contaminated. Then he tried to hide all six and a half feet of himself behind me. His bottom lip jutted out, and he began to sob.  
"No! No, bad man!" Eli wailed, causing quite a scene, and drawing attention to us from the passing crowd.

Eleven looked shocked and abashed. "I-I-I'm sorry," he stuttered. I shook my head irritably, and stood on tip toe to tend to Elliott. "Now, now, settle there, sport." I patted his hand soothingly. "Everything is okay. This is my friend, Christian. You can call him E."

He peered shyly at Eleven, and questioned "Eee?". Then, charging out from behind me, "Eeeeeeee!" Elliott sang, grabbing Mr. Eleven's extended hand with both of his and pumping it enthusiastically. Eleven recovered himself quickly, and grinned at Elliott.

"My big little brother, Elliott." I spoke low and toneless to Eleven. "He's, well, I don't feel like explaining anything to you right now_._" My voice betrayed the strain I felt over this matter. "You need to make yourself scarce. _Now_." I scanned the crowd for my parents, and was well in the process of shoving Eleven off when my mother's frantic face appeared.

"Eli, Eli, sweetie, you had _eomma_ so worried. Oh thank goodness you found him, Estele." She wrapped her arms about Elliott's big shoulders, and he cooed from the attention. She gazed up at him, and then turned her gaze to me, and finally Mr. Eleven. She eyed him, a flash of suspicion in her eyes before she looked on warmly.

She turned to me, "Congratulations, my Estele. Are you going to introduce me to you're friend, _jagiya_?" My mother's affectation cooled my temperature slightly. It abruptly occured to me that there was no getting rid of Eleven now, so I took another approach.

"Mr. Grey, this is my mother, Dr. Ji Seul Gwan-Sarci. _Eomma_, this is a colleague, Mr. Christian Grey. I'm going to be a consulting extern with the philanthropic branch of his company this summer." They shook hands, and Eleven saw quickly where my black eyes came from. "Where's Oppa? I asked, and my father emerged from the crowd flanked by my sister and Cain. I repeated my introduction for their benefit, and Cain tried to hide his annoyance at Eleven's unexpected presence, nodding stiffly in his direction. My father, Captain Nic Sarci, is from whom my brother inherited his considerable size. Although not quite as large as Eli, Oppa still cut a formidable figure. He extended his hand to Eleven.

"Mr. Grey, a pleasure. Noticed one of your fleet at Midway. Dassault Falcon 2000EX. I thought that the young guns like you only flew Gulfstream."

Eleven smiled. "I think the Falcon series has a certain _Je ne sais quoi_ those modern birds lack, don't you agree? Of course, they have nothing on the F-14 Tomcat's you're used to."

Dad grinned slyly, "Your information is nearly accurate, my boy. My bird was a F-16 Falcon,_ Ki-Ti." _He cast an affectionate glance at my mother. "My daughter will be an asset to your corporation, Mr. Grey. Just don't play High Chicago poker against her" He laughed, but there was a measure of warning to his voice.

At that point, my sister decided to make herself known. "Mr. Grey, hi! I'm Rosia, Stelie's sister. She leaned forward and kissed both his cheeks. I rolled my eyes and exchanged glances with my dad. As Rosia launched into her life story, Eleven was thoroughly knocked off balance by the barrage. I shared a smug little grin with Cain, and then cast a sympathetic look to Eleven, who was starting to look like a nodding, smiling drowning man. I was enjoying this reverie, when there came a interjection, and Eleven was hoisted bodily in the air.

"Eeeeeeeee!" Elliott squealed, swinging Eleven about like a rag doll. I couldn't stifle my laughter, and to my delight, Eleven was laughing as well. It was the first time I'd ever seen him uncomplicatedly happy. He looked so carefree, being slung about like an overgrown child. I nudged my brother gently, and he lightly set Eleven back on his feet.

Eleven straightened his slightly rumpled suit, "As much I'd prefer your company, I must excuse myself as I have a connection to Europe I must catch. It has been a unexpected joy to meet all of you. He shook everyone's hands in turn. When he came to Elliott, he held up his palm which my brother slapped with enough enthusiasm to nearly knock Eleven over. He then turned to me, kissing me lightly on both cheeks. Just low enough for me to hear, he whispered "You have no idea what that just meant to me, thank you. Until Friday." With that, he turned on his heel, and disappeared into the crowd.


	6. Chapter 6

_He stands before me, the bright purple-red bruises on his neck and chest seeming to glow in the candle light. I did that. I did that, I enjoyed it, and I would do it again if he asked me to. But he would have to ask. And I have a lot of questions for Gwyn about air restriction, and doing this as safely as possible. Because there was no doubt I was doing this again. I run my fingertips over my handiwork, and he groans under my touch. Estele Sarci has become Ms. Soffocarsi._

The flight to Seattle was uneventful. One of Dad's Air Force buddies was the pilot, and I spent most of the time in the cockpit, being regaled with stories about the glory days. Dad was an AF pilot before he met mom, and settled down into his current gig as a transpacific pilot. It does make it easier for him to see her, who spends most of the year in Seoul working. In fact, if it wasn't for her Partners in Health activities and his pacific flight route, they'd only see each other around the holidays.

When we landed at SeaTac, I grabbed my carry-on bag and headed to the luggage carousel. _Pack light, _he had instructed. I had done my best to comply, but some of the items required for a fun-filled week of good, clean BSDM fun didn't play when walking through security. My trip to Milan came to mind. Specifically, when Italian border patrol held up a pair of studded handcuffs to me and asked if my trip was for business or pleasure. Truthfully both, I had said with playfulness. He had blushed and waved me past quickly. Yeah, I thought to myself, something tells me that wouldn't fly with airport security in the states. And given the way my evening itinerary was going to shape up, I was in no mood for a full cavity search.

I made a brief stop at the restroom, to freshen up and change. The emerald gauzy halter dress had a few creases from its journey, as well as my silk wrap scarf, but they straightened out quickly enough as the skirt fell to just barely to my knees. Tying the waist tight behind me, I stepped into a pair of matching slingback pumps and stuffed my jeans, blouse and flats into my carry-on. The sink was crowded with busy travelers, but I managed a quick touch-up of my lip stain, and a light brushing of cover up. Satisfied with the raven-haired woman who appraised me with her black eyes, I gripped the handle of my bag, and continued to retrieve the rest of my things.

At the exit, there was stunning blonde woman waiting for me, my suitcase already in tow. She held a hand-lettered sign that read "Ms. Fifteen". Easily a foot taller than me, she stooped to shake my hand as I approached.

"Ms. Fifteen? Mr. Grey is waiting for you. I'll take you to his home." She simpered as she said his name. Facing her back, I cast my eyes upward. Sheesh. _I know of deities that don't get this kind of reverence._ She swung the back door of the black Mercedes open for me, and I hopped in. The AMG badge was just visible on the trunk. _Even the underlings get the AMG. Such an injustice._

Within minutes, we were cruising north to the city at quite a clip. We pulled into an underground parking garage, and she parked the car outside a frosted glass entrance door. She opened my door, and handed me a slick business card. It was Mr. Eleven's. On the back, handwritten in black pen was a five digit number.

"The entrance code," said the blond, sensing the question and setting down my bags. This is Mr. Grey's private entrance. If you enter this code, you'll end up right outside his apartment. I wish you a very good evening." And with that, she climbed back into the car and sped away.  
"Okay then," I said, taking a deep breath. No matter how many times I've done this, this part always fills me with a bit of apprehension. Thankful that no one was around to see my moment of uncertainty; I gather my things and punch in the code on the keypad.

1...2...3...4...5?

_Seriously? What is this "Spaceballs"? Is this the PIN for his ATM card too?_ This has shocked me more than anything he could have in store. I stepped into the elevator, and it automatically began its ascent. The doors open, and before me was Mr. Eleven, leaning in the doorway. As I've said, he's not strictly my type. But I can appreciate a nice view when I see it. He had on a dark slate suit and a white linen shirt. No tie again. It was all obviously hand tailored to fit him perfectly. I would say it was money well spent.

"A pleasure to see you again, Ms. Fifteen. I trust your flight went well?"

_Well I'm here, aren't I?_ I thought.

"Mr. Sheldon is a close friend from the Seattle flight crew. I knew he was in the service with your father, so I made a few requests pertaining to the Chicago route." I wondered for a moment what kind of clout it would take to alter an FAA flight schedule as he continued.  
"I'll have your luggage brought in for you, for the time being you can leave them in the foyer. Don't worry, they'll be completely secure. Although I'm less than pleased that you brought so much," he added forebodingly.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Eleven. As a man of fine tastes, I knew you'd understand that there are certain things that are better checked." _Also, my shampoo does not come travel-sized._  
He smiled. "One of the reasons I got my pilot's license, Ms. Fifteen. I'll allow that."  
"Much appreciated, Mr. Eleven." I walked forward, batting my eyelashes. You'll be pleased to know I've had dinner. Ate the entire thing. Airline food, for which I should get some sort of recognition. Might you permit me a question before we begin, sir?"

"I'm quite gratified to know you've eaten, and that you did so to appease me. Therefore, I will allow one question."

My regular tone supplanted Soft Voice momentarily. "1. 2. 3. 4. 5? Really?"

His Dominant persona cracked for a moment. "Oh Ms. Eleven, I thought you were clever enough to realize it," he chuckled.

"Fingerprints!" I exclaimed. "Of course! But how did you get mine?"

"One question only, Ms Eleven." He voice was stern, but his lips were slightly upturned. "Ready?"

"For you, sir? Without question." I smiled placidly and stood before him. Mentally, I retraced my steps, settling on my water glass at the cafe a few weeks ago. _Well, that's a less than comforting thought._

"Shall we, then?" he said, swinging the door of the apartment wide. I was momentarily stunned by the brightness of the sunset over the city skyline. It bathed the entire white room in an eerie orange light. My eyes assumed their customary downcast demeanor, and I nodded. He closed the door behind us, and I felt his hand creep slowly up my spine.

_Here it comes_, I said to myself. But the anticipated downward yank did not come. Instead, his fingers wove themselves into the chignon, gently massaging my scalp. The delicate game of chess has begun. I fluttered my long eyelashes, tilting my face upward and blanking my gaze. He tugs down slightly on my hair, pulling my head further back. I could feel him rustling in his jacket, and soon hear the familiar ripping sound of electrical tape being pulled from the spool. He held both my wrists in one hand, and bound them together.

"Down," he intoned, his eyes now rivulets of cool mercury. I did as I was told; knees on the floor and hands limp behind me, my face still and expressionless to the ceiling. He removed the black scarf from my neck, and blindfolded me. "Stay," he said firmly, and I heard his footsteps descend the marble steps. Still in my prostrate position, I took time to assess my surroundings, without the benefit of my sight. I heard a light switch on in a far room, and the unmistakable sound of pants being sloughed off. Turning my attention away from that inevitability for the moment, I listened to the air register kick on, and what might have been a television in the apartment below._ Jeopardy, how fitting _I thought. In the middle of answering the daily double (What is a naked molerat?), my Friday night special returned.

"Come," he whispered, and pulled me to my feet. He led me cautiously up another flight of steps to a room upstairs. _Aren't dungeons typically in the basement?_ I thought. _It would be a shame to interrupt Final Jeopardy with the sound of whips cracking._ Mr. Eleven then removed my blindfold, and opened yet another stunning room to me. Not for its content or intent, mind you. Behind a non-descript white door was The Courtroom. The first thought to my mind was how palatial this dungeon was: all polished leather and wood, and chains and implements glinting in the candlelight. No cage though, I contemplated with disappointment. That would need to be remedied.

My next thought was why in the world anyone would put a place like this in a standard hallway. I sincerely hoped he always remembered to bolt this door; the image of a poor hapless business client or (heaven forbid) family member stumbling over this place in the search for a bathroom almost made me laugh out loud at the absolute worst time. He closed the door, and in one fluid movement, swept me over one bare shoulder, setting me on large leather tufted sofa. As my bare legs hit the cushions, and I was faced with him wearing nothing more than a pair of well-worn jeans, another unwelcome thought came to mind; I wonder when the last time the sofa (or the jeans for that matter) had been cleaned. I think it's safe to assume that sofa was cleaned more recently. The jeans were a wreck, torn and frayed and far too tight. I noticed what might have been a stain on them as well, but I very quickly and vigorously shoved that out of my mind. He looked like a hipster kid who was trying way too hard to look cool. Or a suburban husband about to go mow the lawn. Yes, I know exactly how appropriate that analogy is. Give me a Dominate in leather pants, motorcycle boots and a fitted white tee shirt any day of the week over this poseur nonsense. While lost in a daydream of my dear Cain in such an ensemble, I was faintly aware of Mr. Eleven looping a rope between the tape at my wrists and binding my ankles together.

"Are you paying close attention, Ms. Fifteen? Your trial is about to begin, and you'll need all your wits about you to put up a good defense." His eyes bore through me, ridiculous jeans and all.

I turned my head toward him and stare through him, my eyes glassed over. "I shall do whatever Mr. Eleven bids." I said mechanically. "Will Mr. Eleven allow me to defend myself?"

"I will, Ms. Fifteen. I trust you will not disappoint me?"

"I will do my best, sir.


End file.
